


So a Shadow Falls

by lifegivesyoulemonsandsugar



Series: CWatTT [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27889573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifegivesyoulemonsandsugar/pseuds/lifegivesyoulemonsandsugar
Summary: By: lifegivesyoulemonsandsugarThe year after the Triwizard Tournament sees a Hogwarts ripped apart by the divided loyalties of the students to house, family, and tradition-loyalties that have become even more confused after a summer of propaganda following the death of Slytherin student Cassius Warrington. Only one thing is certain: the shadow is falling. A sequel to "Cassius Warrington and the Triwizard Tournament". AU.
Series: CWatTT [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042146
Kudos: 10





	1. All Aboard for Hogwarts

**I don't own Harry Potter, obviously. Also, this is a sequel to _Cassius Warrington and the Triwizard Tournament,_ which was a "what if Cassius Warrington had been chosen instead of Cedric Digory" story. This story picks up with overviews of the summers of some of the key ** **characters directly following that story.**

* * *

For Andrew Fawley, the last day of summer holidays was exceptional only for the fact that it meant that the next day he would be leaving his home, quite probably for the last time. He wasn't sad about it at the moment; but he had been throughout the past few weeks, and was sure that he would be once more when the time actually came to leave, and again each time he made the choice not to return. He loved his home and his parents, loved jumping from gala to party to season ball and seeing friends and meeting new people, loved the fields outside the house, far enough away from society for playing a pick up game of quidditch, or for just flying solo. But those things had been clouded this summer. Often, he'd encountered his parents in whispered discussion, sometimes alone, sometimes with others; more often they were gone—"on business", his father said. He'd begun to decline invitations to parties to avoid seeing the faces of his friends' parents, because each time he saw them, he couldn't help but wonder if they, too, had robes and masks hidden away in back closets. He still trained for quidditch and practiced spells, and even ventured to read a few of the more interesting books in his family's library, but it wasn't quite enough.

Really, he'd known it wouldn't be from the moment he'd seen his parents upon returning home. They'd hugged him and asked if he was okay and he'd stumbled through answers to their questions but he couldn't stop his mind from producing an image of them in death eater hoods, standing over the body of one of his best friends. He hadn't really admitted it to himself, however, until his father began to speak with him about his NEWTs.

"Ministry work would be good to pursue, we always need more people there. But whatever you have in mind will have to do, I suppose. People in all areas can work toward the cause. They'll let you join straight out, of course." Andrew had bitten down numerous sarcastic retorts, knowing that they wouldn't help. That, at least, was one thing he'd learned from being a Slytherin: there were many ways to use words as tools outside of them being weapons.

"I've been looking into being a hit-wizard," he replied instead. The conversation ended there, because of course his father hadn't been interested in what he wanted to pursue, so long as it didn't shame the family. His message had been clear: Andrew would become a death eater as soon as he graduated from Hogwarts. After the initial shock of it—which he began to wonder why he felt at all, Andrew had begun to plan.

Many, many times, he'd been plagued with doubt. Until the end of June, he'd've never even considered turning his back on his parents—on his whole _world_ really. It wasn't something to take lightly. Other times, he asked himself why he was doing it at all. To become best friends with a bunch of people who hated that world, that lifestyle; people he'd been raised to hate in return? People who perhaps would never truly accept him? Sometimes, even the picture of Cassius dead wasn't enough to assuage his doubts. Somehow, though, he was here, a day before term began, scanning his room one last time to see if there was anything more to pack.

He'd had to charm his trunk with an undetectable extension charm; and had filled it with everything he thought he might want or need. Some things, he'd gathered throughout the summer in frequent trips to Diagon Alley: buying a few new sets of robes, many options ingredients, basic spellbooks that Adrian insisted he own, new quills and ink and parchment (far more than he'd need for the school year), and much more, withdrawing money in small portions at the same time, to set aside for the future. He'd even convinced his mother that, as an adult, he should have his own owl rather than using the family's—a tawny he'd named Diomedes.

Seeing the spaces where his things had sat—where, in his head, they _belonged_ —a bit of sadness began to twitch its way back to the surface, but he shoved it down. There would be time for that tomorrow. For now, he had to last one more day telling his parents the biggest lie he ever had, and avoiding any conversations that may give him away.

/

Adrian Pucey hadn't lasted a full day at his house. Cassius' death seemed to have snapped something in both himself and Andrew. Warrington had always been the equalizer, the person who pushed Adrian out of his comfort zone and knocked Andrew back down to earth when he'd needed it. Now it was like they'd been thrown into reverse, Andrew staying at home and making plans for the future and Adrian bursting out of his house with his still-packed trunk, not even knowing where he was headed.

In the end, he'd been fine, staying at the Leaky Cauldron for a few days and helping out to earn his stay—he swore that he wouldn't take any of his parents' money—before ending up in contact with Lucina Gamp, Cassius' aunt who lived in Wales. At first, she'd written to thank him for ensuring that she was contacted and brought in to manage everything after her nephews death (his parents being notably absent); but upon learning of his situation, she'd invited him to stay with her. Not one to pass up an opportunity, he'd accepted, and found himself living in a Welsh townhouse two days later.

He spent much of his summer exploring the townhouse, which was littered with spellbooks and artifacts, doing research on what he saw and read and practicing some of the more advanced or obscure spells. He even learned to cook (decently) and bake (edibly), skills that Lucina insisted he would need at some point. He didn't mind, and enjoyed the chance to get to know some of the house elves, who were always willing to answer his questions about the histories of different artifacts or tell stories of different members of the Gamp family which had been passed down through the generations. Always, however, he was on alert for hints to what was going on in the world. Each day, he read the _Daily Prophet_ along with _The Wizarding World News_ , and, on occasion, _The Guardian_ or _Le Cri de la Gargouille_ , when he felt the need for Muggle or international perspectives. Often, he and Lucina would spend the evenings discussing the events—the occasional disappearances, the muggle baiting, the quips in the paper about Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore—events painfully obvious to those looking for the patterns and, according to Lucina, painfully similar to those preceding Voldemort's initial rise to power.

In principle, he supposed that he hadn't changed much. All of this—excepting his careful attention to the news—was how he might've spent any summer holiday. Weariness, however, proved a constant companion. Sometimes, he would feel that he was past his grief—not _over_ it, but able to make it through—yet at other times he felt he could bear to do nothing but lay down somewhere, alone. These were the moments that he saw his friend's face in his mind, dead—he couldn't see him living—or was pulled back to his argument with his parents: yelling at them for supporting a cause that had gotten his best friend killed, merely laughing when they'd tried to deny it (they'd never been vocal supporters, but Adrian was smart enough to be able to follow financial trails, no matter how hard they'd tried to cover them up), storming out of the house with a few well-placed hexes, determined that he didn't need them or their backing or their screwed up ideals.

He'd been back to London only occasionally, meeting with Andrew in Diagon Alley and picking up his supplies. Lucina had offered him money, which he had accepted only after promising himself that he'd use as little of it as possible. She'd also told him that he could come stay after graduating if needed; but much as he'd enjoyed the house with all it had to discover and their evening discussions, he was itching to return to Hogwarts, where he would be living without need of charity, immersed in what was currently the heart of British wizarding politics, with the whole community focused on Harry Potter's growth—and, now, his apparent insanity. It was less than a day away now. Restlessly, Adrian stood up to walk through the house, visiting his favorite spots, stopping by the kitchen, and popping into the library, waiting for tomorrow to come.

/

Tension hung thickly in the air of the Edgecombe house, as it had for nearly half of the summer, ever since Marietta had addressed her mother about the continuous lies pouring out of the ministry.

"If you're the 'good guys', why are you spewing propaganda?"

"Marietta, we don't control the prophet—"

"Mom, everyone knows the Ministry controls the prophet. Even if they didn't you clearly agree with them. My friend died, and you're not doing anything. Harry Potter didn't kill him, and he isn't crazy, which means that He-who-must-not-be-named is back—"

"Marietta! He-who-must-not-be-named is dead. The Triwizard tournament is dangerous. Your friend wasn't the first to die, and we should have worked harder on safety, but it was something in the maze, not a dark wizard who died a long time ago." Fantine's voice was sharp, and Marietta drew back, looking at her mother in disgust, then turned sharply, grabbing her coat and going for a walk.

Walks had become common. They were her escape. She only talked to her mother when she was spoken to, going to her father for things she needed. She had taken to walking to the nearby town (which was quite a trip, but worth it to escape the tension and the loneliness), visiting the library so often that the librarian had begun to ask her to stand in to read for the children's Thursday story hour so she could work on other projects.

In spite of having lived within walking distance of the town her whole life, Marietta had rarely been there. She'd grown up in the country around her house and in Diagon Alley, roaming around the piles of books in Flourish and Blotts, making friends with the animals in Eeylops, and (her favorite) sitting in the midst of the chaos of Wizeacre's Wizarding Equipment, her father's store. Now, she was glad to have no memories attached to the town. It left it as a sanctuary, a place to step away not only from her home, but from the whole Wizarding world.

Unfortunately, her growing attachment to the small town only heightened the tension in the moments she returned home. She wasn't deaf to the troubles facing the Muggle world, and while she knew some were of their own making, it wasn't too hard to connect others to the rising darkness in the Wizarding world, connections the ministry refused to make because it wasn't their world that was affected. Every time she returned home to parents who acted like it wasn't a big deal—or, more accurately, that there _wasn't_ a big deal—she wanted to scream.

It was the day before term started, and Marietta was eating as quickly as she could, as had become her practice at dinner, the only meal the family ate together.

"Marietta." She didn't look up at her mother; only continued to eat her mashed potatoes. "Marietta. This is important." She set her spoon down and looked up at her mother, who was sitting across the table. "You're going to have a new teacher for defense against the dark arts this year, and it's very important that you treat her with respect." Marietta raised her eyebrows and nearly laughed.

"We have a new teacher for defense against the dark arts every year. That's not exactly groundbreaking news." Her mother shook her head slightly, eyes closing.

"This one is different. She's from the ministry, and she'll be acting as a liaison—"

"Why do they need a liaison? They've done just fine without one."

"A student died last year, Marietta—" Marietta stood up, pushing her chair back as she did.

"Don't try to use Cassius as an excuse. The ministry doesn't like that someone's telling the truth because it makes it harder for them, so they're interfering as much as they can. Don't act like it's a natural thing." She grabbed her unfinished plate off the table and looked back at her mother, feeling the anger that had been building up all summer boil over. "Don't worry about dropping me off tomorrow, I'm sure the Changs can take me to the station. I hope everything's happy at the ministry still. Dad, I hope sales stay up, because Merlin knows that's what we should be worrying about when one of the most evil wizards in all of history is raising followers again to take over the world." She grabbed her silverware and her glass in her free hand and walked into the kitchen. Term couldn't start soon enough.

/

Cedric Digory held his head boy badge in one hand, absently running a finger over it as he once more read through the letter Professor Dumbledore had sent with it.

_Mr Digory,_

_I am most pleased to offer my congratulations to you for receiving the post of head boy. Your head duties will be shared with Miss Cordelia Gifford. Over the course of the year, you will represent the students in many ways—_ [listed here were a number of detailed descriptions of what duties the heads would have, none of which had been particularly surprising to Cedric]

_None of your duties, however, are of more importance that your duty to create a spirit of unity within the school. There is no mistaking that we experienced terrible tragedy last year; tragedy that is liable to push already fractured relationships to the breaking point. I believe you know of the evils we stand in the face of. But there is no evil that cannot be pierced by unexpected good._

_This is what we must strive to create within Hogwarts: an unexpected good. I'm saddened to put this pressure on you, but I must. Ever the young are forced to carry the burdens created by the weakness of their elders._

_I suggest you begin contact with Miss Gifford soon, to discuss what you will face. Thank you, in advance, for your service to our school._

**_Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Headmaster)_ **

Nearby sat his most recent letter from the Cordelia Gifford in question—

_Cedric—_

_You're right, though I reckon the Gryffs would freak more than the Slytherins. Maybe we can get some of the less inflammatory prefects from both houses together after the meeting on the train and brainstorm—maybe Ogbourne and Granger for Gryffindor and Bagley and Lympsham for Slytherin?_

_Anyhow, have you heard about the ministry woman coming in as Defense teacher? Mum says she's horrid, any word from your dad? I doubt she'll make the whole unity mission Dumbledore's assigned easy (like it ever was going to be), so we've got to make sure to be watching out for what she does. Don't want any nasty surprises. But the ministry is determined that we believe everything they've been filling the prophet with all summer, the peace and the messages about Dumbledore and Potter going barmy._

_As for internal problems with the prefects, I agree that the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins are an unfortunate combination—maybe part of what they're saying about Dumbledore being barmy has something behind it. Parkinson's just annoying, but even Not would've been easier to work with than Malfoy. And Weasley's the classic touchy Gryff, so anything's liable to set him off._

_I've got to finish packing still, so we'll have to talk more on the train—don't worry, I'll leave you plenty of time to talk to Cho and check in with your team (you'll need to if you want a chance at beating us)._

_Cheers,_

_Corrie_

Cedric wasn't sure how he felt about the year to come. He didn't think there was any one description—he was excited, nervous, concerned…basically everywhere on the scale of emotions. One thing was certain: true to Hogwarts fashion, it was likely to be an interesting year.

/

King's cross didn't look any different than other years. There were first years turning this way and that as their parents went through a checklist of supplies one last time and older students greeting their friends and catching up from the summer as they loaded their trunks. There were families huddled in groups saying goodbye and some students arriving alone. Everyone was looking everyone else over for things to talk about—Eldon Pembroke and Selina Moore weren't talking at the moment; Michael Karume had grown suddenly taller and more in shape over the summer; Kim Sheringham looked to have an entirely different nose—whether magical or muggle was debated.

No, it didn't look any different. But it was. Loyalties were soon to be tested. The shadow was falling, and Hogwarts was at risk. Anything could happen.

* * *

**Yeah, I thought I wasn't going to do this. I caved. I want to keep writing these characters. I'm super excited for where this story could go! If you have any ideas about characters you'd like to see, there's a poll in my profile you can hit up. I'd love to hear your input on it :)**


	2. Sorrow and Many Meetings

Adrian was only half-listening to what was being said, focusing instead on remembering all he could about Dolores Umbridge. She had come up in quite a few interviews over the summer; her name nearly always closely linked with the Minister's. She had spearheaded a few laws for the restriction of werewolves, and had publicly commented on Hagrid's outing as a half-giant the year before. None of these had mentioned her annoyingly high voice or tittering laugh—which, at the moment, were the most irritating things about her. She cleared her throat once more and began to talk in a more business-like voice, and Adrian immediately zoned back in to listen.

/

"The ministry of magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever."

Hestia Carrow smiled at the phrase. "Unique to the Wizarding community" was right. She didn't really like the looks or sound of Professor Umbridge, but she might have the right ideas, at least.

"She may not be so bad," her sister Flora murmered to her, probably thinking along the same lines as Hestia. Hestia shrugged and kept listening, reserving her final judgement until she'd heard all Umbridge had to say.

/

"…for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering."

"Try saying that five times fast," Cho whispered to Marietta, giggling. Marietta forced a smile, seething at the Professor's words. Even if her mother hadn't told her about the ministry sending someone, she would've realized why Professor Umbridge was there, with all this nonsense about discouraging progress in favor of tradition. It was a paper-thin excuse to interfere, and the professors seemed just as irritated about it as Marietta felt. Ignoring her friends laughing beside her, she continued to listen as the speech continued to get worse.

/

"…perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

Over the course of the speech, Cedric's mood had darkened considerably, mostly due to the fact that, once you got past the face of the speech, which was practically propaganda, the message was that the Ministry was preparing to make changes at Hogwarts. Historically, this was a bad idea. Every time the Ministry decided to put their paddle into business, things went wrong—just two years ago the Dementors they'd sent had almost given the kiss to Harry Potter! Shaking his head in disbelief, he rose with the rest of the students to head back to the dormitory. Whatever else she'd intended, Professor Umbridge had certainly given him a lot to think about.

/

"So what're your thoughts on the ministry's professor?" There was no real need for Andrew to ask the question so just Jack and Adrian could hear him, but he did anyway. Jack Bagley shook his head, his expression dark.

"She can give a hell of a speech." Adrian let out a dry laugh.

"How long do you think it took to phrase all the propaganda they've been filling the prophet with so it applied to Hogwarts?"

"Who knows. The worst part is to think how effective it's going to be," Jack replied, opening the door to their room as he did so. Any response the other two might have given was cut off by the sight of their three beds spread equally around the edges of the round room. It looked…empty. There had always been fewer Slytherin boys in their year, but the missing bed and the empty space made it even worse. What was missing was a constant reminder of who was missing. Andrew was the first to move, dragging his trunk from where the house elves had set it by the door to the foot of the bed straight ahead. The others followed suit, and as they unpacked and the room became a little less empty it also became a little less sad, and instead more bittersweet.

Their unpacking was interrupted about halfway through by the arrival of Zoe Accrington, a fellow seventh year, and Nerissa Brody, a sixth year and frequent participant in their pickup quidditch matches.

"Oh," Zoe said softly, her eyes scanning the room.

"How's unpacking?" Andrew asked mostly to break the silence which had fallen heavily over the room once more. Nerissa shook her head slightly as though shaking herself out of a memory.

"Good. Yeah it's going well. I still have a lot but I thought we should talk. And I met Zoe in the hallway, so we came together. And now we're here." The end of her talk trailed off in a way that made it clear that she knew she was overexplaining. Andrew nodded

"Talk about Umbridge's plan for Hogwarts." It wasn't a question of if that was the reason but an understanding that it was.

"What do we do?" Zoe seemed to have totally recovered, although Andrew—and, he was sure, all the others—knew her well enough to know that her feelings were only repressed, not gone. "We obviously can't follow along like sheep; not while the ministry's pretending Cassius wasn't murdered." Jack nodded.

"We also can't just give in to all the nonsense of "pruning practices that ought to be prohibited"—as if they don't just mean shutting down anyone who thinks differently than they do."

"So we need a plan." Adrian finally joined in, and Andrew felt some relief. Adrian had come back from the summer different. Still himself, but with a recklessness humming beneath his every motion and every phrase, a recklessness that had never been there before June. Now, for the first time that day, that recklessness had died away a little, and he sounded far more like himself. "We can't go along with it all, but we can't really openly rebel either. That would mean painting a huge target on our backs, because we know how Warrington died and we're willing to fight, but there's plenty of people in our house that are still loyal to their parents and their pasts."

Nerissa nodded in agreement. "We need to find out who we can trust. I know there are others who don't believe the ministry, and some of them will be willing to stand up with us. It's not right that our whole house isn't angry about Cassius, but some of them are, and we can't leave them hanging."

"It's more than that though. We can't unite as just the Slytherins. You-Know-Who is back, and there's a war coming. It's time for us to choose a side, and that can't just be 'the side of Slytherins that aren't death eaters'." Jack looked at them, seeing the skepticism. "I know they might not accept us right away, or maybe never fully trust us. But we have to try." No one came out and agreed, but all gave mumbled approvals of the fact.

"So. How do we do it?"

"We'll need a connection," Adrian replied. "Someone who we can trust and who trusts us. Someone willing to stick their necks out in front of their housemates to trust us." Nerissa raised an eyebrow.

"You say that like you know someone who'd do it."

Adrian shrugged. "I've got an idea or two. Just need to check some things first."

There was an air of excitement in the room as everyone said their goodbyes, albeit an excitement with underpinnings of the fear, uncertainty, and the lingering mournful sadness—the kind of excitement that comes after you've made a choice but don't yet know how it will play out. Because for better or worse, they'd made their choice, and something was bound to change.

/

People who knew Seamus Finnegan wouldn't call him a calming person. He was always at one extreme or another, always ready to make a passionate argument for some thing or another. That passion was what so attracted others to being his friend. It was also, unfortunately, the reason he was currently sitting in his bed with the curtains drawn, silently fuming about Harry Potter.

He'd only asked what had happened—really happened, not the partial story Dumbledore had told at the feast or the news the Prophet had been filled with all summer, the real story. The truth was, Seamus hadn't believed the newspaper like his mum had. He'd known Harry for years, and he was pretty sure people weren't inclined to suddenly go insane. Still, a whole summer of reading the news and having your mother talk about your classmate and Headmaster as though their insanity was a definitive fact was plenty of time to raise doubts, however unwelcome. Her brief consideration of not letting Seamus come back to Hogwarts had only put him more on edge.

So Seamus wasn't too happy with his summer or his mother. Still, that didn't give Harry the right to insult her or to blow up, especially not when all Seamus'd done was ask for information.

He didn't know how long he sat in that same position, but it was long enough for his fuming to turn into a complicated mess of anger, confusion, and a bit of regret. The world, he thought, wasn't meant to be this complicated when you were fifteen.

/

Usually, when you were secretly meeting your best friend's boyfriend in the middle of the night in a classroom chosen specifically because it was out-of-the-way and therefore you were less likely to be seen, it was because you were doing something that you definitely shouldn't do with your best friend's boyfriend. Marietta liked to think that she was a pretty good friend, and whether or not she was right she was, in this case, not doing anything worse than sneaking out of her house after curfew.

What they were talking about, of course, was what had been working its way into every conversation anyone had had since the feast: Dolores Umbridge.

"She's a piece of work, that's for sure," Marietta said, and Cedric laughed lightly.

"She is. Unfortunately, she's bound to be wonderful at her job—her ministry one at any rate. I doubt she'll be much good as a professor."  
"No, she won't. And I suppose that's just what the ministry wants, isn't it." Cedric didn't reply, but if his expression was anything to measure by, he quite agreed. "I understand why they would choose her, and I get why they'd do it now. After everything they said this summer, it's clear they're trying to cover up everything Professor Dumbledore and Harry are saying about Cassius' death. I just don't understand why she's here as a professor. Why not just send her as an observer or something? Do they want us to fail?" Cedric ran his hands through his hair with a deep sigh.

"Unfortunately—kind of, yeah. From what I've been able to get out of Dumbledore's letters, they're scared that he's going to train us for war or something. But since they don't believe that You-Know-Who is back, they think he's planning to come after them or something." Marietta snorted.

"If Dumbledore had wanted to take over the ministry, he would have become minister when everyone wanted him to, and Fudge never would've gotten the job."

"Yeah, I know that, but try telling Fudge."

"Fair. But what do we do? We can't just not learn Defense. We have to know it, the world's going mad behind the ministry's back. Anyway, it's your N.E.W.T year, you can't rely on Umbridge to pass you."

"And it's my O.W.L. year, and I certainly don't plan to rely on her either." Marietta and Cedric both whirled around to face the newcomer.

"MERLIN, Terry, would it have killed you to knock?" Marietta groaned, her heart still pounding.

"Nah, but you wouldn't've stayed put if I had."

"And why exactly are you here in the first place?" Cedric asked, confusion and annoyance mingle with relief on his face. Terry lifted a bag he'd set on the desk next to him upon speaking.

"I was grabbing some snacks from the kitchens, and I had to the the long way back to avoid Mrs. Norris." Marietta felt panic begin to build again.

"She isn't around here, right?" Terry waved aside her alarm.

"Nah, lost her a while back. I only came this route to make sure she was gone. When I heard you talking about Umbridge, I thought I'd pop in and give you my thoughts."

"Thanks," Marietta said drily. "Can we get back on topic now? What are we going to do about Umbridge?"

"I'm sure the Gryffindors will be up in arms immediately," Cedric noted.

"They probably already are," Terry agreed. "I bet Potter, Granger, and Weasley will do something, because when have they not?"

"That's true. But I don't want to rely on them alone. We need to do something ourselves. I just don't know what yet."

"So we take a break. Brainstorm. Meet up again later." Marietta nodded in agreement, and Terry looked thoughtful.

"Take a break and brainstorm yes. Meet up—risky. Hear me out. This summer I found this spell for long-distance communicators that was really elite back fifteen, twenty fiveish years ago. The ministry used it, mostly, but they stopped when Patronus messages resurged. The spell's really complicated—it's why not many conversation units were made—but if done right you can directly communicate with whoever has the other members of the communication set." Marietta looked intrigued and Cedric thoughtful.

"Okay, so what are the units?"

"They can be anything you choose to enchant that reflect—a shiny bowl would work, or even a spoon, but a real mirror would be best. You can technically make loads that are all connected, but research showed that any more than four got pretty unreliable." Cedric nodded.

"That would definitely be helpful. Could I see the spell, sometime?" Terry nodded. "Great." Cedric straightened up and took a rather pompous pose that was quite unlike him. "Now as Head Boy, I really have to tell you both how disappointed I am in you for being out of bed so late. And on the first day, too." Marietta rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, whatever you say. Come on, Terry, I don't feel like figuring out a riddle, so this one's on you." Terry protested, but not too strongly, and the three parted ways.

/

Choices had been made, quarrels had emerged, plans had been formed. Already, things had changed; past, present, and future all felt uncertain. But for now, Hogwarts slept.


	3. Shaken

"Just to clarify, Professor, what you're saying is that we won't really be learning…anything. Nothing at all."

The tension in the air of the room was palpable; the entire NEWT Defence class looking either at Professor Umbridge in fear or at Zoe Accrington in disbelief. Cordelia Gifford, personally, was focused on Zoe, who was looking defiant in spite of the silence that had greeted her question.

The 7th years didn't have Defence against the Dark Arts until Friday mornings, which meant that they'd spent all week listening to nearly every other year make various comments about Umbridge's teaching—only the sixth years, who had double Defence on Friday afternoons, had not been able to give their input.

Umbridge gave one of her titters which, rather than diffusing the situation, only served to make Zoe tenser. "Of course not Miss—Accrington, is it? You'll be learning plenty. I'm sure you will have time enough to practice the spells _after_ your graduation, though what need you'd have of them, I can't imagine."

For just a second, Corrie was afraid Zoe was going to bring up You-Know-Who—à la Harry Potter's now infamous performance earlier in the week—but she refrained, though it was just barely if the flash of her eyes was any indication. Instead, she gave a laugh of her own, as if she and Umbridge were sharing some kind of joke.

"Oh yes, of course, there's nothing we need to fear in the world. It's just that, you see, Curse Breakers tend to get in some sticky situations, and I doubt they'll want someone who's never _actually_ performed the spells they need, which will make the job market a bit difficult, don't you think?" There was certainly no missing the biting sarcasm in Zoe's sickly sweet tone, and Corrie wanted to applaud her as she saw the look on Umbridge's face. As she glanced around, she could see similar feelings on others' faces—the NEWT students had gone through seven Defence professors and in hour, Umbridge had beaten each of them out for the title of "Worst Professor". Corrie couldn't help a small smile from emerging on her face as she thought back to the mission Dumbledore had assigned her and Cedric that year—school unity. Looking at her classmates, she thought that this might be an okay start.

/

Outside of the Yule Ball and a conversation or two through the years, Alicia Spinnet didn't know Zoe Accrington. If this was anything to judge by, however, Alicia thought that she and Zoe could probably be quite good friends.

Umbridge was clearly about to answer Zoe's question—something Alicia didn't particularly care to hear, so she decided to pipe in herself. "The same'd probably be true for Dragon Keepers, I'd bet. I mean, when you think about it, the world is really full of dangerous things." Alicia shrugged. "I guess the ministry has our best interests at heart, that being your jobs, but the way you're going on it sort of sounds like you don't want us prepared to face the real things in the world. But I reckon that's silly, isn't it?" Alicia turned to Fred Weasley, who was sitting next to her, for this last question. Fred made a show of his consideration, ultimately answering that he wasn't really sure what it was or what it seemed, those being so abstract, really. Alicia snuck a look at Umbridge, who looked ready to blow and bit off her response. There was a limit to how far you should push a professor on the first day, she figured. Anyhow, there'd be plenty more classes for this sort of thing.

/

Umbridge had seized her chance to jump back into control of the class; yet as they settled into reading their books—which had to be some of the driest material Adrian had ever read—the feeling of victory in the class was covered only by the unity. Some students merely looked relieved that everything had blown over, but others were subtly exchanging looks or notes while Umbridge looked away. True, Adrian felt annoyed at Umbridge, angry with the ministry, and frustrated at his inability for action; however, he felt satisfied as well as he reflected on the ability of just a few students to bring class to a stop for a bit without getting in any trouble at all. For a moment, they'd had the power.

Adrian smiled. He wasn't sure what this year would be, but it was shaping up to be far more than he'd thought. And he, for one, welcomed that.

/

Blaise Zabini was sick of Professor Umbridge already. Many of the other Slytherins in his year liked her well enough—mostly, he was sure, because of The Potter Incident—but he was unconvinced. He wasn't sure what got to him more: her breathy voice, irritating giggle, or the fact that she wasn't having them use magic. Probably the latter, but mostly it was just her as a whole.

The worst of it, he thought, was having no one to complain with. Theo listened, to an extent, as did Daphne, but Blaise knew that was just out of four years of their practicing listening to him complain about things they didn't care as much about. Anyway, it was better than nothing.

He got particularly irritated with the other members of his house who didn't seem to care at all—or rather, who seemed happy about the change. Crabbe and Goyle, of course, were two, but Blaise was used to being annoyed by the two of them. Worse was listening to Hestia and Flora Carrow discuss how wonderful of a professor she was going to be, or to listen to Malfoy talk to Holden Ledbury about how she was among the best professors they'd had in the class—that she didn't suck up to the Gryffindors like all the rest. More and more he felt himself drawn outside to walk the grounds or study by the lake or to the library, where Madam Pince's listening ear made certain that no such conversations could take place loudly enough to bother him.

It was only a week into the year, and while Blaise wasn't sure what was to come, he was pretty sure it wasn't going to be good.

/

In theory, the seventh year charms students were reviewing their nonverbal vinegar to wine spells, so there was really no reason for discussion. Flitwick, however, seemed to understand that most of his students had just come from Defence, and was willing to let it slide for the day, so long as they at least left a glass of wine behind when leaving class.

Typically, Andrew would have worked with Adrian and Jack; on days like this where there was review Zoe and Amy may have joined them as well. Today, however, there was an odd collection of students grouped together. Adrian and Andrew had been surprised to be joined by the Weasley twins, but the additions of Cedric Diggory and Kim Sheringham had only made the situation odder. For a while, they'd silently worked on their spells, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

It was George—Andrew was pretty sure, at least—who finally broke the silence.

"I'd have to say that was about the most useless class of my career, and We had Lockhart for a whole year."

"Lockhart?" Kim laughed. "Please, at least he was amusingly poor. I think you mean Ward. Second year, constantly told us how far ahead he was at our age?" Andrew laughed at this.

"He was pretty terrible. George's right, though, Umbridge certainly wins at this."

"Should've known having Lupin OWL year was the only stroke of luck we were going to get in the defence department," Cedric added with a sigh. Andrew avoided moving, but he felt a little uncomfortable. Looking back, he could see that Lupin had been a brilliant teacher, but at the time…

"So what's the year going to look like, d'you think?" The question was a bit abrupt, but Andrew was incredibly thankful for it. Adrian had never had problems with Lupin, but he certainly knew Andrew had.

If nothing else, Andrew was grateful that Umbridge's horrible teaching was giving them a reason to talk to people from other houses. Adrian had considered connecting with the Weasleys, and Jack had already spoken to Patty Stimpson, his girlfriend, but they'd been struggling to figure out how to talk to them.

Andrew's stream of thought was cut off by Cedric chiming in. "We all need to be standing together. The school, I mean. Dumbledore mentioned that to Corrie and me—unity. But I don't think that we are, really. United, I mean." Cedric broke off, as though he was thinking of a particular instance. The conversation continued to flow as the seventh years vented about Defence, but Cedric stayed quiet for a while, not quite listening.

/

The prefects had met after dinner on the first day of school, and it hadn't exactly been pretty. The table in the meeting room was a long oval, and Cedric and Corrie had taken two seats at one end of the table. The prefects had trickled in slowly, and Cedric had talked to many of them as they'd entered. Soon, he'd noticed an unfortunate pattern forming, as each house began to occupy separate sections of the table. There were a few exceptions: Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillan had joined Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein; Scarlett Lympsham had gone with Jack Bagley to sit by Patty Stimpson; Sean Ogbourne was deep in conversation with Alannis Shepley—about what, Cedric had no idea. If last year was anything to go by, the two had nothing in common. Particularly worrying, however, were the angry glances exchanged by the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins. Cedric and Corrie had exchanged a look, both checking to see if the other saw their suspicions about the tensions being confirmed, then Cedric had begun the meeting.

In spite of the disappointment about unity, the meeting itself had gone pretty smoothly. Less pretty had been their implementation of new guidelines surrounding rounds.

Corrie had been less than confident about the plan but had agreed to it nonetheless. From her presentation, Cedric would've assumed she'd come up with the idea.

"As far as your schedule permits, we want you to sign up for rounds with someone you don't know as well. Maybe from a different house, maybe just another year. It's your choice." Various grumblings emerged from the group, from sounds of annoyance to irritated whispers to outright refusal from someone Cedric couldn't pick out. Corrie's eyes had narrowed. "If you all decide not to do as we're asking, we'll schedule you ourselves. So find someone else whose schedule works with yours and come sign up for a spot." Her tone didn't leave room for complaint, and in the end everyone had signed up.

Still, the meeting hadn't done much to make Cedric hopeful for a year of easily creating an atmosphere of unity.

/

Cedric zoned back into the conversation as the others were laughing at Fred's impersonation of Umbridge's voice.

"Aaand he's back!" Everyone looked at Cedric as George interrupted their laughter. "Coming back to the topic on hand, have we all had nice little discussions with our friends about how poorly veiled the ministry propaganda was this summer?" The question itself really wasn't funny, but its bluntness made everyone grin or laugh a little.

"As soon as we got back," Adrian admitted, Andrew nodding.

"And me," Cedric said.

Kim shrugged. "Not so outright, but that's just because my friends don't know if they agree or not, and they wouldn't take kindly to me ranting about the ministry."

"Terry Boot reckons Potter, Granger, and your brother will do something about it," Cedric said. Fred looked a bit bemused—likely wondering why exactly Cedric knew what a fifth year from a different house reckoned about _his_ brother—but didn't push the issue.

"Likely true. Can't count on it to be fast though, they usually wait until the end of the year to really do something spectacular."

"We've got some plans for Umbridge ourselves, though," George added. "We've been working on some products for the shop, and once we get them in circulation—"

"They'll drive her bonkers." Fred finished. "'Course, they're not all done yet, but they're nearly there."

"So we don't have anything solid yet," Kim summarized. The others acknowledged this.

"Okay…but that's just now. How're we going to let each other know when we do?" Andrew asked. Adrian nodded.

"That's important. It's like you said earlier Cedric, about unity. The Sorting Hat even said it in its song, about uniting because Hogwarts was in danger. We've got to have a better way to communicate than grouping up for charms." Cedric nodded in agreement.

"I'm working on something, a long distance communication charm. It's complicated, but I should be able to get it working in a little while. If we each had one of the devices we could make sure all the houses were connected." The others agreed and looked at each other, smiling.

It was small, but it was there. A little spark of rebellion ready to make a fire.

/

Montague had gotten the captain's badge, but everyone on the team knew it would've gone to Warrington if not for the previous year's events. Andrew had done his best to convince Adrian to go out for the chaser position, but Adrian had laughed at him, saying that two years had been plenty for him. Andrew had jumped him with the idea several times, but to no avail. Jacob Urquhart, a sixth year, had ended up getting the position, having been a reserve chaser since his third year. Andrew had never actually played a match with him, but he seemed to be a strong enough player.

The real loss to the team had been Montague's choice of beaters. Derrick and Bole hadn't been the sharpest, nor had they been the cleanest players, but no one could deny that they'd been good. The same couldn't be said for Crabbe and Goyle, who Andrew was fairly sure were about as talented as a pile of rocks—and that was together.

Andrew got to the pitch early—the Hufflepuffs had cleared out half an hour before—and flew a few warm up laps before coming down to meet Miles Bletchley and Jacob, who had just walked onto the pitch.

Andrew didn't know much about either of the sixth years. Jacob he only knew from the few times the reserves had worked with the other chasers. Andrew had joined the team his fourth year under Flint, but his first full season had been under Derrick his fifth year (although, really, it had been a group captaining effort by both Derrick and Bole). Miles had been Keeper for both of those years, but Andrew didn't really know where to place him either. As the three began to talk, he could feel that they were all sizing each other up. Montague showed up next, closely followed by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Other than a bit of pomp on Montague's part and more than a few stray bludgers, the bulk of the practice went smoothly. Andrew had always relied more on Cassius than Flint or Montague—whoever the third member of the chaser trio had been—and was finding Urquhart equally reliable. All in all, Andrew landed after practice feeling pretty good about the season ahead of them. To make things better, for the first time since returning to Hogwarts, his mind was clear of worry about life or the world. He'd even almost forgotten about his summer and the fact that his whole life was sitting in his dormitory. There was a sense of freedom around being in the air, and joy alongside it, the kind of moment that you never want to end.

/

Miles wasn't having the same experience. He'd volunteered to wrangle one of the bludgers while Crabbe and Goyle got the other, and had in the process placed himself in the middle of a conversation of the wonders and shortcomings of one Professor Dolores Umbridge.

"The only people her teaching is " _all right_ " for are the ones who couldn't do the spells even if they were allowed to learn them properly." He hadn't meant the comment to actually come out, and he _certainly_ hadn't meant it to come out so loud. There'd been no names attached, but the direction of the comment didn't leave anyone much question about who Miles thought was too stupid to do the spells properly, and its content left still less confusion about whose teaching he was referring to.

Crabbe and Goyle looked mildly offended—though Miles figured they might just be confused—while Malfoy and Montague, who'd been agreeing, more or less, looked downright angry. Jacob had developed a sudden fixation with the ground and looked uncomfortable.

Andrew Fawley, on the other hand, looked as though he'd barely covered a laugh and shot Miles a grin as soon as Draco and Montague started angrily protesting. Miles felt his eyebrows shooting up at this reaction. From past experiences with Andrew Fawley, Miles would've expected him to be behind the ministry's actions. Not one to turn down support, however minimal, he grinned back before turning to finish packing the bludger and pointedly walking away from his two annoyed teammates. Maybe not _everyone_ on the team was irritating after all.

/

Marietta had never talked to Seamus Finnegan. She hadn't talked to Dean Thomas either. She'd never even really interacted with Harry Potter either, outside of running into him once when she was visiting Carl Hopkins the previous year.

In other words, Marietta had no reason to eavesdrop on Dean and Seamus's conversation—if a listening to a fight happening in the middle of the corridor counted as eavesdropping. She _absolutely_ had no reason to give her input, and doing so in a raised voice was simply crossing a line.

It had been the ministry propaganda that had gotten to her. It was just the same as what she'd been hearing all summer, about Harry and Dumbledore being cracked and about Cassius' death being an accident. The first bit she'd had to deal with all week—there wasn't much she could do about it. The bit about Cassius, though…

"I suppose you've known lots of people who've just dropped dead by accident then." Seamus and Dean had both turned to face her, and the look on Dean's face made it clear to Marietta that this hadn't been the conversation to interrupt.

Too late.

"Well?" She decided pressing the point was all there was left to do. A bad decision? Probably. But she didn't care, at the moment. "How many is it? And while we're on that, how many people do you know who've managed to go totally crazy in the course of one summer?" Seamus's face was redder than it had been during his argument with Dean—which was saying something.

"It's funny, isn't it, how these reporters know so much about all of the things they didn't witness and the people they don't really know. It's almost like it's a load of dragon dung made up by an organization who's too scared to face the truth that's looking them in the face. But then I guess some people are too." Marietta looked at the boys in front of her, Seamus's eyebrows narrowed and Dean's head buried in his hands. "I guess Gryffindor courage can only go so far into the real world." With this final statement—and a barely audible groan from Dean—she stormed away, her jaw clenched but her anger dissolving. It had _definitely_ been a bad decision. Really, her words had been everything she'd wanted to say to her mother before coming back to Hogwarts, everything she wanted to say to Umbridge now—Seamus had just been an available, less risky target for them.

She wasn't sure what kind of person that made her, but she was pretty sure it wasn't a good kind.

She was also pretty sure that Seamus Finnegan did _not_ have a good first impression of her.

* * *

**So a few things that have been shifted from canon, apart. from... you know... most of the story. Some people may have noticed in CWatTT** **that Adrian isn't on the quidditch team. In this story, he played his second and third year but quit after that (before Harry. and co.'s second year). Also, to make the chaser lineup make more sense, Marcus Flint graduated when he was supposed to graduate-hence why Derrick was Slytherin quidditch captain during Andrew's fifth year.**


	4. How the Word Spreads

Hermione Granger walking through the library with Parvati Patil would've been strange enough, really. The fact that a disgruntled looking Ernie Macmillan followed behind them helped make it even odder; but the truly astonishing bit was when she sat down across from Terry Boot and began to _talk_. Madam Pince had a _strict_ no talking policy, and Hermione Granger was not one to risk being removed from the library. Nevertheless, it had happened, so Terry set his Charms aside to listen. Ernie and Parvati had sat on either side of Hermione, which made Terry feel a bit like he was in an interview, but an interview he had neither signed up for nor knew the purpose of.

"I think we can all agree that Professor Umbridge is a horrid professor." Terry blinked and felt his eyebrows shoot up—not at the sentiment, but at how direct it was.

"I think you could reasonably say so, yes." As he spoke, Terry noticed that Ernie looked a bit uncomfortable. He'd been loud in his support for Harry, but defying Umbridge was a different matter altogether. Still, he was here, which said something for him.

"And we can't have a horrid professor, not this year with our OWLs, and not in general, not now that You-know-who is back." Parvati nodded in agreement, looking rather more serious than Terry had ever seen.

"You aren't wrong about that, of course," Ernie chimed in. "But I don't exactly see what it is you mean to do about it. We aren't in any position to depose Professor Umbridge." Terry laughed.

"I don't think Hermione is suggesting a coup, Ernie." Hermione smiled.

"Not exactly. We can't get rid of her, you're right. But what if we work around her? Have someone else teach us."

"That's great, Hermione. Only as far as I know, we're a bit short on Defense teachers." For the first time, Hermione looked a bit nervous, and Terry suspected she was just now getting to her main point.

"Well…yes. But I thought maybe Harry could do it." She glanced at the other three faces and read their skepticism. "I know it sounds a bit out there, but think about it. Harry's fought You-know-who three times now—really fought him, I mean, not just surviving as a baby. Not to mention third year when he used a Patronus. And he learned loads of spells last year, for the tournament. I've thought about it a lot, you know. I really think it would work."

The silence when Hermione was done lasted for a considerably long time. Finally, Parvati spoke up.

"I mean, I guess we could try it. What's the harm?"

"You're sure Potter could actually help? That he actually knows his stuff?"

"Yes." Hermione sounded sure again, now that she hadn't been entirely shot down. "I don't know exactly how it'll work, but I know it'll be better than what we have now."

"So what do you want us to do?" Ernie asked.

"Talk to some friends—people you really trust, I mean. Tell them to come to the Hog's Head at the first Hogsmeade visit—the fifth of October, you know." Terry restrained from rolling his eyes, but only barely.

"We know when the Hogsmeade weekend is, Hermione."

"I was just checking," she sniffed. "If you have any questions let me know. If not, I'll see you in class." With that, the meeting was over and Hermione walked away. Ernie, Parvati, and Terry looked at each other for a moment.

"Is this mad?" Terry asked. Parvati giggled.

"I think it's a little late to be asking that, Terry."

"Guess so." In defeat, Terry began packing up his books." No way I'm going to finish this now."

"I suppose we have some friends to recruit, haven't we?" With that, the three said the awkward goodbyes that come when you're with a group who you don't _really_ know and went their separate ways.

/

"Oi, Edgecombe!" Terry waved, but to no avail. "Edgecombe!" He walked faster, eventually catching up. "I think everyone in Hogwarts heard me but you. Would it have killed you to stop?"

She turned to him with half a smile. "I heard you, but it my experience, greetings like "hey Marietta" or just "hey" are a lot more likely to get a response." Terry opened his mouth to argue, but instead shrugged.

"Okay, that's fair, but I really need to talk to you about something, so will you listen anyway?"

"How long do you need? Because I have an astronomy assignment due Thursday, it's massive, and I haven't started it." Terry made a face.

"I can't _believe_ you're taking NEWT astronomy. But that aside, this won't take long and it's way more important."

" _I_ can't believe you're insulting my class choices when asking to talk to me. But fine, what's so important?" Terry glanced around the busy hallway.

"Let's go somewhere quieter, yeah?" Marietta's eyebrows raised slightly, and she looked more interested.

"Alright. This better be good."

/

"So…the plan is to have a fifth year teach us defense."

"A fifth year with _experience_. Look, I thought it sounded mad too, but Granger's right about what he's done. You have to know _something_ to face You-know-who." Marietta still looked doubtful. "Look, even if you think he can't teach you anything it would be good to have someplace to work on spells. People to practice with. Even if Potter's no good, we can help each other. That's worth something, isn't it?"

"I suppose…I still think it sounds odd, but I'm in. You said we're meant to invite people?"

"She said only people we really trust." Marietta smirked

"I'm a person you really trust?" Terry prepared to defend himself, but Marietta waved him away with a laugh. "Don't try to explain. I'm sure there was a reason. I've got to tell Cho, but I don't know about the others in my year. Noreen shouldn't know… Cho'll tell Cedric, but he should know anyhow, so that's not a problem. I'm guessing you've already talked with your lot?" Terry nodded.

"Padma, Tony, and Michael are all in, but we've decided that only a couple of us are going to the meeting, no need to let everyone at Hogwarts know something's happening."

"True. You said Granger told you, MacMillan, and Padma's sister?" Seeing his affirmation, Marietta frowned. "So we know, the Hufflepuffs know, and it's the Gryffindor's thing…what about the Slytherins?" Now Terry frowned too.

"I mean…the Slytherins in our year are kind of…horrible."

"All of them?"

Terry immediately wanted to say yes, of course they were horrible. They'd never tried to reach out and be his friend—or even acknowledge him—so why should he think about them in return? Why should Hermione or Parvati or Ernie? But he couldn't, he realized, because he didn't know them. Marietta seemed to take his silence for what it meant.

"I'll tell Pucey then. I'm sure his lot'll be interested at least, especially after last year. They'll know who to talk to about it in other years too." She looked at him, her face not without sympathy for his confused feelings. "The world isn't always black and white, Terry. Especially not when it comes to people." Leaving him with that, Marietta grabbed her books and left.

/

Hogwarts had stopped buzzing about the instatement of Dolores Umbridge as High Inquisitor, but Adrian wasn't deaf to the murmurs which had replaced it. These weren't so widespread, but it was clear that something was at work—among the other houses, that is. Whatever was being planned, whatever idea or event was spreading through the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, he was outside of it. It had started about halfway through last week, more whispering groups of students appearing, more students talking in empty classrooms with an eye on the door. It was probably nothing most people would pay any mind to, but Adrian was acutely aware of it. And he hated it. He hated being outside of it, he hated feeling stuck, and more than either of those, he hated that he didn't know how to change that.

This mindset had been growing for the past few days, and as he walked to the Owlery he found himself thinking about it even more. As he walked over to the school owls to choose one for delivery, he heard someone else walk in.

"You do not make yourself available for conversation, do you?" Marietta looked considerably irritated, and the pinkness of her face suggested that she'd come here in a hurry.

"I'm available now. What do you want." He didn't try to hide his own annoyance, and Marietta raised her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry, is there a problem?" Adrian didn't respond. "Because that sounded like the response of someone who has a problem with me. So what's your problem?"

"I don't know, what _is_ the problem?" Adrian shot back. "I wouldn't know, because I haven't been invited to the secret little chats you've all been having. In fact, _none_ of us have."

"And what a mature response you're having to that," Marietta said drily. "Especially considering that this was meant to _be_ one of those 'secret little chats'." Adrian felt himself deflate.

"What?"

"I _came_ to tell you about what's happening. I'm sorry if it took longer than you're happy with, considering that I've never really _spoken_ to you before." Adrian was pretty sure his face was getting red.

"I'm—"

"Sorry, yeah. Got it. Let's just move on, yeah?" Seeing his surprise, Marietta smiled for the first time. "You're not the only person to ever get mad and regret it, Pucey." Adrian nodded in thanks, but inside was still shaken. People got mad and regretted it. But he didn't yell. He'd never yelled at people. That wasn't how he worked, not until this summer with his parents. It made him feel like he'd lost control of a little piece of himself, and being out of control wasn't a feeling he liked. Shoving those feelings down—which he was sure he'd regret the next time he had an open moment to think about them, he looked at Marietta.

"So, we're going to have a secret little chat?" She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. We're going to have a secret little chat. And for future notice, I don't think that yelling at people is the best way to meet them." At this, she turned to face him with a grin. "At least, that's what I've been told."

/

"You told Neville, right?"

"Yeah. Any luck with Lavender?"

"Not yet. Seamus?"

"Haven't even tried. With the mindset he's in—" Dean didn't need to finish, because Parvati knew exactly what mindset he was in. Lavender's was the same. "What about the Quidditch team? D'you reckon Hermione'd remember them?"

"I talked to Katie earlier, she said she'd let everyone else know. She was also going to tell Carl." Dean looked at her blankly and Parvati rolled her eyes. "Carl Hopkins? The rather nice looking sixth year? Tall, blonde…" she trailed off, realizing she wasn't getting anywhere. "Remember the mad breakup at the end of last term?" Dean's eyes suddenly lit up.

"Ohhhh Carl _Hopkins_. Right. Talk about end of term entertainment." They both laughed at the memory of Carl and Ana standing in the middle of the common room, one bright purple and the other covered in whipped topping. "I've got to learn the spell Ana used. It was brilliant."

"It was rather good," Parvati agreed, still giggling. Dean stood up, still grinning.

"I've got to go meet Seamus to work on that Charms homework." He shook his head in disgust. "Three feet on the wand motion alone—Flitwick isn't messing around." They said their farewells and he left, leaving Parvati to pore over the fascinating details of the 5th Goblin Rebellion of 1933.

/

"So you're going to this thing then, Ced?" Cedric nodded.

"I'm not saying you have to go, I just thought you should know. I told Patty too, and four or five of the fifth years know for sure too, but no one else so far." Cedric looked up at Gillian, trying to gauge his thoughts. They'd been best friends since the fist time they'd boarded the Hogwarts Express, but even after seven years, he was hard to read.

"I don't think it's a bad idea—" Gillian's words came out slowly, as though he was still thinking them through. "—even if we know more spells than Potter, he's had the experience, and I reckon that's worth a good bit. And just having a place to practice, that's important…" He lapsed into silence again for a beat, thinking. "I trust you. I won't go to the meeting—that'd only make it more noticeable. But if you come back and you still think it's worth it, I'm in."

Cedric smiled, mostly out of relief. "I'm glad. I'll tell you how it goes—it's still a week out though." He hesitated. "You're right though—about the attention I mean. We'll be dead obvious, all of us going." Cedric frowned. "I'm going to go talk to Patty about it." Gillian nodded and waved him off, and Cedric headed off in search of Patricia Stimpson.

/

"We can trust Corrie."

"Yes I _know,_ I'm not saying we can't. I'm saying that we shouldn't just involve her immediately. She's Head Girl, she could get in a load of trouble." Anthony Goldstein sounded exasperated, and Marietta couldn't blame him. They'd been having this conversation in a circle for half an hour.

"Look, Kim, he's right. I know you want to tell Corrie, but maybe we shouldn't. If she finds out, or if we can figure out a way to make it less risky to tell her, then she's welcome to join. But we can't just tell the world. It's a secret." Kim looked annoyed, but seemed to see that she wasn't going to win.

"Fine. But if someone else tells her about it then I'm going to tell her everything I know." The others nodded in agreement, knowing that this was the best they were going to get—and more generous than they'd expected. "Which of you lot are going to the meeting again?"

"I am," Marietta responded, "and Cho, then Michael and Padma. We'll tell you, Anthony, and Terry everything." Kim nodded and picked up the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ she'd been reading before the others came over.

"I still don't see why I can't go," Terry muttered, "seeing as _I'm_ the one who told all of you lot."  
"Because Michael's determined to impress Ginny Weasley, and you agreed that he could go instead of you. We aren't doing this again." Padma made a noble effort not to roll her eyes, but failed—with the reminder of the argument between Terry and Michael, no one really blamed her.

"Whatever," Terry decided. "You forgot about Loony Lovegood, she's going too." Kim swatted at Terry with the newspaper.

"Don't—"

"Call her that, yeah, I know, you've said." Kim shot him a disapproving look before returning to the paper, which the others took as their cue to leave.

/

"So it's tomorrow."

"Yeah, it's tomorrow."

The 7th year boys' dormitory, which at the start of the year had felt so empty, had recently been anything but. Zoe and Nerissa had always come to talk, but this year they visited much more frequently, Zoe in an effort to avoid Tracey Nettlebed and Rissa the Carrow twins, Hestia and Flora. Miles Bletchley, having befriended Andrew at Quidditch practices, also popped in and out. On this particular Friday night, all of them were there, discussing the meeting at the Hog's Head Inn the next day, the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year.

"I doubt it'll last too long, so we'll meet up with you three to let you know what they say about everything." Adrian said. Nerissa, Miles, and Zoe nodded in agreement.

"Think anyone'll be mad you're there?" Miles asked. It was a fair question, though none of them wanted to think about it.

"Not mad, exactly. Surprised, probably. They can't say we weren't soundly invited, though," Andrew quipped. The others laughed. Marietta had been the first to tell them about the plan, but Patty Stimpson had told Jack two days later. A week after that, the Weasley twins had told Andrew after Charms. "Anyhow, I doubt Potter'd let them get angry about it. He's supposed to be all for equality, right? "

"Now if we sent some of the fifth years, he might not be so amiable," Adrian noted.

"Zabini isn't too bad," Nerissa chimed in. "I don't know him too well, but I know he helped Queensbury and Carter out with Charms last year. He always tutored at the same time as me, so we had to coordinate when we used the supplies from the Charms cupboard."

"Zabini's the one whose mother has been married loads of times, right? And she's supposed to have murdered half of her husbands?" Miles snorted.

"Only if you read the gossip columns." Zoe looked unconvinced. "Look, some of them have been…suspicious, I guess, but if you've ever met her, you know that "Colette Zabini, murdress" just doesn't really work. Besides, Rissa's right, Zabini _isn't_ too bad. Maybe we should tell him, after tomorrow." The others didn't look quite as sure, but they didn't argue either.

"Right, well if we're going to get ready in time for Hogsmeade we'd better sleep, 'cause we all know Andrew doesn't do mornings well unless he gets his beauty sleep." Andrew shot Jack an irritated look but didn't argue, which spoke for itself.

"'Night, then."  
"Yeah, g'night."  
"See you at the Three Broomsticks."

/

The next morning, nearly every student third through seventh year loaded into carriages for the year's first trip to Hogsmeade. Most of the older students headed to Zonko's or Honeydukes or the Three Broomsticks, while the third years popped in and out of all of the stores. A few couples headed to Madam Puddifoot's, some groups went to see if the ghosts were shrieking in their shack, and twenty seven students in small groups made their way, not-so-subtly to the Hog's Head Inn.


	5. There's a Time and a Place

The buzz that had been passing through the groups of students had only grown as they'd made their way into the Hog's Head. Small groups chatted while everyone waited for their butterbeer, their eyes flickering on and off Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who stood slightly apart from everyone else. Half of the tables in the Hog's Head were full.

Adrian scanned each table, trying to gauge the atmosphere. He, Andrew, and Jack had been joined by the Weasley twins and their friend Lee Jordan, and Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell had pushed the next closest table over theirs. Cho Chang, Cedric Diggory, Carl Hopkins, and Marietta Edgecombe were next, then three Hufflepuffs who he thought were in their fifth year. At the next table—the closest to the bar where Harry, Hermione, and Ron stood—were Ginny Weasley, two fifth year Gryffindor boys whose names he didn't know, a small Gryffindor he vaguely recognized, and another fifth year boy, this one a Ravenclaw. Finally, the table nearest to the door held two girls—a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor—who looked related and a younger Ravenclaw girl with a vague, starry-eyed expression.

"Hello, Adrian. Are you there?" Adrian pushed away the hand Andrew was waving in front of his face.

"Uh yeah, sorry. It's just… we're _really_ obvious. We're taking up like six of the tables, and Potter's standing right by the bar where literally anyone can see him, preparing to give a speech." Only Jack and Angelina nodded, like they'd noticed this too.

"I've never been here before, but I thought it would be…louder. We definitely don't blend in," Angelina agreed.

"Umbridge was bound to find out about us sooner or later," Jack said with a shrug. "At least now we'll know to be careful from the start, not get surprised later."

"Dunno where we'll meet though," Katie said. "It could take a while to find a place Umbridge won't know about."  
"Nah," George looked unconcerned. "There's loads of secret passages and rooms around the castle—"

"No way she knows all of them," Fred finished.

"And we've got ways to see if she's coming—at least, Harry does," Lee added, giving the twins a significant look which made it very clear where Harry's secret advantage had originated. Adrian decided not to ask.

"So secret rooms and incredibly vague powers. Sounds great. Still doesn't explain how we're all going to get somewhere without being noticed. There's nearly thirty of us here, and more interested. Even if we do find a place, we'll also have to worry about getting there—"

"And we will," Andrew neatly cut Adrian off. "We'll figure that out after we have a location, not before. There's loads of ways—disillusionment, invisibility potions, conveniently scheduled prefect rounds, even just coming on a staggered schedule. None of them are perfect, but we can minimize the risk if we do it right." Adrian opened his mouth to respond, then simply nodded in agreement. As the twins began to tell everyone about a new product they were making, he took a second to study his friend. Andrew had always been one to jump headfirst into things, rashly making decisions while he, Adrian, cleared up afterwards. Yet here he was, being… _rational_. Thinking ahead and making plans, not getting overwhelmed by the small details. Adrian had known that the summer had been hard for Andrew, as he'd fought to stop himself from bursting out in anger at his parents and their society. In the past, Adrian had always been able to read his friend's face, to understand his feelings. Now it was like they were locked away—it wasn't that Andrew seemed emotionless, just more… _controlled_ than he ever had. This realization his Adrian in the gut, and he wondered how much of his own change his friends could see.

Ever since the third task, Adrian had felt something growing inside him. At first he'd been terribly angry— at Voldemort, at his parents, at the judges, even at Harry—but when that had trickled out, he'd just felt _hollow_. As time passed, he'd felt something growing inside him, just emotions, really. Just grief. He'd thought his outburst at his parents would be the end of it, but it had kept rising, steadily, since then. He'd been able to keep it in apart from a few outbursts—like yelling at Edgecombe—but the longer he felt it the bigger it got, and the less control he had. He felt like a bystander, waiting for the moment that one of the urges he'd been having—to fight, to yell, or something worse—would get the better of him, and he'd have to watch himself do something stupid, maybe even something that would get him expelled. The worst times, though, were the times that he felt that maybe letting go and losing control was really the better way to go—that at least then _something_ would be happening. It was those days that he found himself planning little ways he could get revenge on Voldemort, ways he could hurt him, hurt the Death Eaters, and it was after those days that he felt sick, mentally and physically, unable to rid himself of the images he'd conjured up and of the ways he could hurt people without killing them, and images of himself carrying them out.

Yes, he wondered how much of that his friends could see, try as he might to hide it; wondered how transparent the hold he still had was. He tuned back into the conversation for a while, but soon the butterbeer came out, and conversation died as everyone turned to look at Potter, Weasley, and Granger.

/

Granger, Marietta noticed, looked no little bit trepidatious about addressing the group, which was clearly larger than she'd bargained for; but nevertheless it was she who stepped forward first. The chatter in the room vanished, leaving only the low hum of conversations others in the bar were having.

"Um, hello…I'm Hermione—though most of you know that—and if you're here, then you're interested in learning Defense from Harry—but you'll know that already too, of course," Hermione's face had grown red, but she pressed on, Weasley giving her a nudge of encouragement. "We all know that nothing's going to be learned in class this year—" saying this, her voice was confident "—so we have to learn in another way. V-Voldemort is back." A few of the students shifted uncomfortably, while others—including, she noticed, Cho and Carl—audibly gasped. Marietta forced herself not to flinch. _It's just a name, after all_. "Harry's faced him before, four times, if you count when he was a baby, and we have to be ready too, to face him and anyone who follows him, because the ministry certainly won't be."

"Hear, hear," one of the Weasley twins said, lifting his butterbeer.

"Not that I don't believe you," Padma Patil chimed in, "About… about You-Know-Who being back. Because I do, I believe you and Professor Dumbledore." She said, clearly addressing Harry. "It's just…we don't know what happened, not really. Not about any time you've faced him, even when you beat him as a baby. All we know about last year is that you lived and Warrington died. How do we know it's something we can learn, and it's not just…something _you_ have?" Harry looked angry, as though he was being attacked.

"Why're you here then, if you don't think you can learn anything? If it's to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you. I don't want to talk about Warrington, okay?" Marietta snuck a glance at Padma, who looked taken aback and not a little bit offended. She couldn't blame her, but she also couldn't blame Potter—she'd gotten mad about a lot smaller things, and it couldn't be a happy memory for him.

"I think what Padma was trying to ask was whether you have an idea for a curriculum—you know, spells that would be good to cover and things like that, so that we can know what we're preparing for." Cedric sounded as reassuring and certain as usual, but Marietta was almost a hundred percent sure that was not at all what Padma had meant. Before Harry could answer (or argue with sentiment), one of the Hufflepuffs cut in.

"Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?" Marietta felt her eyebrows raise. The Patronus Charm was advanced. Really advanced. Other people chimed in—had Potter really killed a Basilisk with a sword (yes)? Save the Sorcerer's Stone (also yes)? Fight off Professor Lupin on the full moon with a silver dagger from potions class (no)? And of course, everyone remembered the Triwizard Tournament—and if they hadn't before, an excitable Gryffindor fourth year was quick to remind them of Harry's flying in the first task. By the time they were done, everyone seemed a little more excited, not to mention a little more sure of the idea.

"Look, I had help—lots of it—on those things. A lot of it comes down to being in the right place at the right time and having the right people by your side when you get there. But I'll teach you what I can, for whatever that's worth."

"Which is probably more than he thinks it is," Ron put in knowingly. Marietta heard Carl give a soft laugh beside her.

"It's true," he said quietly. "He nearly runs away from praise—you should've seen him after his name was drawn last year." Marietta smiled absently, her mind elsewhere.

"Where will we meet? And when?" She asked. "I doubt we'll be allowed to act as an official club, not if lessons are anything to go by."

"We can't interfere with Quidditch," Angelina Johnson put in, a sentiment which was echoed by Cho, Cedric, and Andrew.

"We'll find out a system to let you know when meetings are each week. As for where, we don't know yet, exactly, but we'll tell you before the meeting."

"If you don't hear about it, ask someone you see here, but don't talk to anyone who's going to go blabbing to Umbridge about it," Ron added.

A few more questions were asked, and students said their goodbyes and began to trickle out, some to stop by the other shops, others to meet up with friends. Whichever the case, however, whispers of a secret club graced many ears that day; some mere rumors, some informative. Unfortunately, it was the second kind which made its way up to Hogwarts and into the waiting ears of the one woman to whom they were least welcome.

/

It wasn't unusual for students to come to dinner in groups; and it wasn't exactly unusual for those groups to be talking whispers either. It _was_ unusual for it to be happening at the table of each house at the same time, in fairly _large_ groups, and for the same reason. Luckily, most of the other students were too busy eating, discussing the banning of clubs, or working on their assignments to notice, and those who weren't decided that, while odd, it wasn't far enough out of the question to really merit close attention. Whether this was due merely to human inattentiveness or there was some shielding magic at work was unclear, though it was likely a mixture of both.

The discussions revolved around three core subjects: the time and location of the first defense club meeting (the next day at 8:00 in the Room of Requirement), the educational decree which had banned clubs unless approved by Umbridge, and, in light of these two, the question of how to get large groups of students out of their common rooms all the way to a room near the center of the castle without being noticed by others—teachers or peers.

/

At the Ravenclaw table, at least, there was certainly some sort of silencing charm or another, given that Marietta Edgecombe and Michael Corner had somehow gotten into four shouting matches without being noticed, and were currently gearing up for their fifth.

"For the _last time_ , Michael, disillusionment charms are too difficult to hold, and none of us but Kim, Cho and I have learned them yet, and there's no way we can hold eight of them without slipping."

"That's why we go in _shifts_ , Edgecombe, so you don't have to do them all at once," Michael was talking with the patience of one explaining astrophysics to a five year old, which the others all knew meant the shouting would be coming in soon.

" _Oh_ , we go in _shifts_. Very easy, then, for YOU, who won't be doing ANYTHING! And anyhow, _shifts_ aren't going to change the fact that I, for one, can ONLY USE THE SPELL ON ONE PERSON AT A TIME SO FAR!"

Michael looked as though he was about to respond to this, but Anthony Goldstein, deciding he didn't have the patience at the moment, gave his friend a swift, hard kick in the shin under the table.

"Okay, so we won't use disillusionment, but we can save the idea for when the four of us learn it later this year, and then Kim could help Luna, since she's had more practice. At the moment, we need to focus on not being noticed."

"Yeah, thanks captain obvious," Terry said, rolling his eyes in Anthony's direction. "I'd never have realized _that_ was our problem if you hadn't said." Anthony's eyes narrowed ever so slightly in irritation, but he otherwise didn't react.

"No problem. Look, as I see it, we've no reason to use magic, as crazy as that may sound to you lot. No one's going to blink at me, Terry, Michael, and Padma leaving the common room together, or at Cho and Marietta. If Luna and Kim happen to be talking to Cho and Marietta as they leave at the same time, then people might think it's a little unusual, but not _unheard_ of. We just leave at different times and walk to the room, and if anyone asks, we can say we were heading for an empty classroom to practice homework in." No one openly argued, but neither did they look excited about the idea. "Look, we can come up with a more refined solution for next time, but if we overcomplicate it now we'll not even be _at_ tomorrow's meeting." For a moment, there was silence, as the others tried to come up with any large problems—and, apparently failed. Luna had been sitting quietly during the entire conversation, but she was now looked at Anthony interestedly.

"I think it's a good idea. You've always been remarkably free of wrackspurts, Anthony Goldstein." Anthony blinked, taking this in.

"Um, thanks, Luna. You too." Luna fell into a great laugh, as though this was a terribly funny thing to say. Anthony assumed this meant she'd actually had plenty of encounters with wrackspurts (whatever they were), but he decided not to ask. Luna Lovegood, as odd as she was, had a way of making him feel like he was missing some big cosmic reality in favor of his average little life—not intentionally, and not in a mean-spirited way, but nevertheless, he hated the feeling of knowledge beyond his grasp—even if it was knowledge of something nonexistent. Instead, he turned back to the conversation at hand, which was gearing towards an argument about what times they should leave and how far apart. Anthony got the feeling that it'd be a long night.

/

The Gryffindors had, perhaps for a less logical reason, decided on a similar solution. With so many of them involved—thirteen, not including Harry, Ron, and Hermione—it was unlikely that they could be entirely subtle. Angelina had ordered the Quidditch team members, besides Harry and Ron, to meet in the library the hour before the meeting and discuss strategies, as their practices had been banned until Umbridge decided to re-approve the team, and Lee Jordan planned to join them before the meeting. Colin and Dennis Creevey went off to the library together often enough anyhow, two years apart though they were, and Carl Hopkins could reasonably be assumed to be off somewhere with Marietta Edgecombe, with whom Hogwarts gossip had placed him in the "talking" stage of a relationship since the beginning of the school year (although neither had commented on the truth, or lack thereof, of the statement). The problem, then, was with the fifth years, particularly Parvati and Dean.

"Have you ever _tried_ to send Seamus away when he's in a mood?" Dean asked Ron, sounding rather strained. "It doesn't work. And he's been in a mood _all bloody year_."

"He's not here now," Ron pointed out.

"Only because he left when I came over to sit with you lot. And he'll be in a snit over it the rest of the night, if not all into tomorrow."

"Tell him you're off to have a snog," Lee piped in—less than helpfully, if Dean's responding glare was anything to judge by.

"Tell him you're off to have a snog with Parvati," Fred Weasley added, taking the silence as an invitation.

"Gives her an excuse too," George agreed with a grin. Dean's face heated, and he was silently glad that Parvati was over with Lavender at the other end of the table.

"No chance," he said definitively. George gave a deep sigh suggestive of the fact that Dean was missing a great opportunity, then shrugged.

"Just have Neville say he needs your help with something then, and Gin or someone can do the same for Parvati." That, Dean figured, was as good an idea as any he was going to get—or come up with, for that matter—so he nodded in agreement with the plan.

"I'll talk to Neville," Ron offered. "And I could Ginny too, I guess."

"Ickle Ronnikins helping his friends—"

"Can this grown up boy really be _our_ baby brother?" Both twins fell to fake cooing over Ron, who was shooting them angry looks. Dean snorted a laugh and rose to follow Seamus—and hopefully calm him down.

/

The Slytherins, after some discussion, decided to use disillusionment charms to make sure they weren't followed out of the dungeons the next night. Unlike the Ravenclaws, all of them had learned the charm in class already, apart from Blaise Zabini, who was still unsure of whether to go (having been invited by Miles after the Hogsmeade trip). The Hufflepuffs weren't trying any deception at all—Cedric Diggory was simply going to take the head of the group, claiming that he'd asked for their help cleaning out one of the old trophy rooms—just taking care of Hogwarts as _any_ responsible Head Boy would. Either way, they figured the presence of an authority of sorts would do them well.

It was with such plans that the members of the defense club headed off to their dormitories for further plotting and more detailed planning. The next night, they would be meeting in open defiance of Umbridge—and, though only some considered it, the ministry of magic through her. And they were ready.


	6. The First Part of the Day

There was no reason to be concerned, Andrew told himself as Arcturo, his parents' owl, dropped a letter on his plate. He'd been writing home like normal, it was only natural that he'd get responses. Loads of people got letters from both their parents, no matter that his father didn't usually—well, _ever_ —write the letters. It was certainly from his father, who wrote with a flourish easily distinguishable from his mother's even print.

Nearly no one apart from the other members of the Slytherin Quidditch team were already at breakfast; most came between 7:00 and their first class. He would've eaten after practice too, but Jacob Urquhart had cheerfully suggested a team breakfast, and Montague had offhandedly agreed to it. As a result, the team was now sitting in a tired clump at the end of one of the Slytherin tables; Miles and Jake were across from each other on the end, then Malfoy and Crabbe across from Goyle and Montague, Andrew beside Montague. Montague was attempting conversation with Malfoy while Jake chatted away to Miles. From the look Miles shot Andrew, he, for one, was certainly not a morning person. To his tired mind, this struck Andrew as incredibly funny, something which only lasted long enough for him to turn away and look at his plate…the smile slid off his face as he once again beheld the letter. He shoved it in his pocket before anyone could turn to see it and continued to eat.

It was a bad practice. Andrew was unfocused, which Urquhart took in stride and Montague was furious about. He couldn't remember ever caring about Quidditch less; instead of flight patterns or trick shots it was the writing on the envelope burned into his mind. Finally, practice was over, Montague had finished yelling at him, and he had cleaned up. Usually, he'd have headed back to the Great Hall to meet up with Adrian and Jack or gone back to the dormitory or to the library to work on some assignments. Instead, he found himself in one of the classrooms in the dungeons that had once been used for dueling club, but had since been abandoned, its unfortunate location at the end of a hallway, as well as its overall mustiness meaning that it was avoided even by those couples who hunted for the most out-of-the-way place for their alone time.

Andrew did his best to clear out a corner of the room and sat down on a bench located there, pulling the letter out of his pocket as he did so. For a while, he simply looked at the paper, taking note of his name once more, then slowly turned it over to open it. He vaguely noticed that his hands were shaking, but continued to draw the letter out of the envelope.

_Andrew,_

_Semele tells me that you've reported good progress in your studies. I was unsurprised to hear this; you know the importance of success. Small successes such as you work on now are the steps to your provision not only for your own future, but for the future we seek to build. That end, more than anything, is what we strive for and are willing to sacrifice for. You understand this as some of your classmates do not. We have, of course, heard of Adrian Pucey's decision to run away—although Marius and Elmira did try to cover it up. It is a disgrace, and one I fully expect that we shall never encounter, particularly not after the coming winter holidays._

_This summer we discussed your plans to attain a position of some authority within the Ministry of Magic, as well as what you would do on the side. The time for this has come more readily than I imagined, or indeed hoped for. It is an honor, indeed, that you should find yourself welcomed into such a service so young. As yet there is no date set, for we do not work by my schedule of yours, but of the leader of our brotherhood._

_There is no need for you to respond. I will know by Arcturo's return that you have received this message._

_I trust you will not fail me._

_D. F._

Andrew read the note three full times before it could fully register. Once it did, he leaned back against the wall, no longer concerned about its cleanliness.

"Incendio." He barely whispered the word, but the paper caught fire immediately. He watched his father's words get eaten by the flame as it spread over the paper.

"Holidays…" Even knowing what the letter said didn't stop him from trying to deny it. _I trust you will not fail me,_ the letter said. Andrew knew his father well enough to read between the lines. If he did fail his father, if he proved himself to be every bit of the disgrace Adrian was, he was placing a target on his head—not from the death eaters in general, but from his father. He would be hunted, the end result being his death or repentance. The first, obviously, was unappealing, but the second, after Cassius, was unimaginable. He almost wanted to laugh at the situation, if only because he knew that if he didn't, fear and anger would swallow him. Self-preservation at war with ambition towards betterment—a rock and a hard place indeed.

/

The list of Marietta's reasons to get to double Transfiguration was definitely topped by the near certainty of detention—or at least public disapproval—from McGonagall, a near second was that it meant she could ensure her sanity in the form of sitting far, far away from Graham Montague. Her reasons for being late, today at least, were a friend (Cho) and not-yet-or-maybe-ever-but-possibly? boyfriend (Carl) who insisted on her contributions to their discussion about the first defense meeting that night. Conveniently, neither had class first thing—wandmakers were mostly reliant on charms and private spells, while mediwitches needed more knowledge of potions and herbology than anything. Unspeakables, however, were expected to have a grasp on a range of basic topics, which was, really the cause of Marietta's current dilemma: the headache that was listening to Montague's snide comments for the better part of two hours.

Disgruntled wasn't a word Marietta would often use to describe herself, but at the moment it worked quite nicely—dissatisfaction with a passing chance of real anger—a chance that was growing by the minute. She was honestly trying to hold herself in until the end of class, but she could only hear the word "Mudblood" so many times before snapping. To her relief, with about ten minutes to go in the period, Montague and Ledbury (Whose ear the former was gabbing into) changed topics.

"What d'you reckon about Professor Umbridge?" Marietta was pretty sure that this was the only time conversation about Dolores Umbridge could raise her spirits. In hindsight, she supposed she should have known better.

"Head's in the right place, once you get past the mannerisms. She knows where power is and where it belongs." Ledbury nodded as Montague said this.  
"Hope she sticks around long enough to get some Gryffindors expelled—maybe even get barmy old Dumbledore out, for good this time." The bird Marietta was in the middle of conjuring exploded at this, making her drop her wand in surprise.  
"She'd be better in the ministry, wouldn't she? She's worked with werewolf laws, yeah? Maybe she could get Mudbloods classified with them, label them dangerous—or better, illegal. Sooner they're locked up the better, in my opinion."

Marietta would no longer describe herself as disgruntled. _Seething_ , perhaps, would be suitable now. Without bothering to pick up her wand, she turned in her chair and promptly punched Montague in the face.

The class, which only a moment before had been full of noise, fell silent. Only the sound of chirping birds remained. For a moment, Marietta could hear her deep breaths as she looked down at her hand (which she was pretty sure she'd broken—proper punching form wasn't something she'd been taught). Then, everything went mad. Whispers erupted, but they were inaudible underneath Montague's shouts of outrage and then finally—

"You will all be quiet!" McGonagall's sharp tones easily cut through the clamour. "Mr. Ledbury, take Mr. Montague to the Hospital Wing. The rest of you may leave when they are on their way. I remind you that your essays on the source of your biggest failures in conjuring are due next class. Miss Edgecombe—" McGonagall fixed Marietta with a stare that made her want to shrivel into a ball. "—go to my office. I will be with you shortly." Marietta scooped her bag up of the ground and shoved her papers into it, not caring whether her notes were crumbled. Grabbing her wand from the ground, she headed for McGonagall's office.

Before she had time to take in her surroundings more than to note the Quidditch Cup on prominent display, McGonagall entered and closed the door, turning to face her student.

"If you would, Miss Edgecombe, sit down and tell me why, _exactly_ , you felt the need for physical violence in my classroom? Or, for that matter, why you felt it was necessary at all?"

"Because I wanted Montague to shut up." As soon as she said it she groaned internally, but there was no taking it back now. She sank into the seat opposite McGonagall's desk as instructed, waiting for the Professor's response. McGonagall's arched brow, however, told her she was to explain further before she could expect a response.

"Er, that is…Montague and Ledbury were going on all period about blood purity and all that, and then Ledbury brought up Umbridge and that he hoped she'd get rid of Dumbledore somehow, and Montague said that…" Marietta paused, a scowl crossing her face. "Well, he said that he was glad she'd made laws against werewolves and that he hoped that she could, and I quote 'get Mudbloods classified with them'. Said he'd be happy if they were all locked up. I would've hexed him, but I'd dropped my wand." Marietta looked McGonagall in the eye. "I'd do it again." McGonagall sighed, a long-suffering expression flitting across her face for just a second, like she'd had conversations like this many times. Actually, thinking about the Gryffindors she knew, Marietta figured she probably _had_ had this conversation many times.

"In the future, Miss Edgecombe, refrain from addressing the problem yourself and talk to me after class." McGonagall paused for a moment, waiting for acceptance. Marietta reluctantly nodded, and she continued. "I will speak to Professor Snape about this, but I'm afraid there isn't much that can be done, given the circumstances. Expect a note detailing the time of your detention in the next few days."

"Yes, Professor." McGonagall nodded and motioned Marietta out of the room.

"Go on, now, and have Madam Pomfrey look at that hand." Marietta rose to leave, but paused at McGonagall's next words. "I hope you know, Miss Edgecombe, that you can bring concerns about other students, or about their views, to any one of your professors."

"Even Professor Umbridge?" Marietta tried to bite back the question, but it was too late. A sour expression crossed McGonagall's face.

"Perhaps I should rephrase. You can bring concerns to any one o f your professors willingly employed by the Headmaster."

"Even Snape?" This time, Marietta grinned as she asked, and McGonagall eyed her over her glasses.

"If you plan to confide in Professor Snape I daresay that is your choice, Miss Edgecombe. Just be sure to inform me so I can come watch." A smile played at her lips, and Marietta barely suppressed a laugh as she nodded and headed out of the office towards the hospital wing. Montague was still horrid, and Umbridge a plague, but it was nice to remember that even still there was good in the world

/  
Blaise Zabini had eight hours to decide whether or not to join an illegal club, and he had no idea what he was going to do. The Zabini family, for as long as anyone could remember, had been neutral. It didn't matter what a debate or war was about, they could be counted on to ride in the gray area, doing harm to neither side. Their work was social climbing, and at this they excelled, using their intelligence to gain status, talents to gain allies, and resources to gain debtors. In the end, this had always been enough to get by—to live well, relatively untouched by the arguments which turned into fights which in turn stretched into wars. Blaise was sure that he, too, could ride this line, and with relative ease. The question was of whether or not he wanted to.

At the moment, sitting in the Great Hall surrounded by the others in his year, he was leaning towards rebellion. There was a saving something in some of them—Sophie Roper, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, and even Draco Malfoy, if you were the right person and caught him on a good day. When he looked at Crabbe and Goyle, however, or Pansy Parkinson and Emma Vane, he felt a strong desire to oppose whatever they stood for.

Internally, he acknowledged that this was a bigger choice than whether or not he liked the people on either side of the issue. It was a choice of the kind of person he wanted to be, and the kind of world he wanted to be a part of. Blaise knew who he was. It was something he had never doubted. He was intelligent, determined to make a name for himself, clever, and resourceful. In another world, he might have been a Ravenclaw, but Slytherin was somewhere where the ambitious could count on learning to succeed—even if only because they had to fight the expectations of the other three quarters of the school to do so.

In truth, he realized, his most pressing problem was one of the world around him. At the moment, it was embroiled in chaos; but in time one side or the other would come out on top. Blaise saw risks in either victor—in one the risk of the world being swallowed by darkness; the other the risk of returning to a broken system. Stagnation. It occurred to Blaise that he didn't really want to support either of those ends (although both were uncertain), but he was equally certain, suddenly, that he wanted to choose _something_.

For now, he decided, he'd choose to learn. He'd go to the defense meeting, pick up some lessons, and see what happened. He was sure that he'd second-guess himself at some point, but any choice bore such a risk. This one, he was willing to take.

/

In a hallway just off the grand entrance, and therefore quite near the Great Hall (though not visible from inside it), Umbridge had hung her Educational Decrees. For most of the day, there were at least a few students drifting in and out of this hallway, but at 4:00 on Wednesday evenings, there were few, if any, passing by. At 4:00 on Wednesday, Adrian should have been in Ancient Runes, and he was sure he'd regret skipping class later. Instead, he was standing in front of the Educational Decrees, his head a mess of anger at the usual culprits—the death eaters, his parents, and some other person, one he refused to identify, because it was too painful. It was the same thing he'd been feeling for a while, but he was on the verge of exploding, and he'd known it for a while. It was constantly on his mind, and he'd decided to direct it, as best he could, at the ministry. The silence of the ministry. Their lies. Specifically, at the moment, Umbridge and her Educational Decrees.

Adrian took a deep breath, just long enough for a panicked thought of " _What in Salazar's name am I thinking?_ " and proceeded to vanish the decrees. His anger lessened a bit at the sight of the empty wall, replaced with a vicious glee, a desire to do more. Using a month-long ink charm he'd read of, Adrian directed with his wand in neat lettering a message: _Educational Decree Number 25: All students must acknowledge the strong resemblance between High Inquisitor Dolores Jane Umbridge and the common toad. Any student in noncompliance will be expelled._ For good measure, he charmed the ink bright purple and gave it a faint glow.

Without allowing himself a chance to give credence to his earlier question to himself, Adrian tucked his wand away and quickly and quietly made himself scarce. As he went, he took care to wipe his wand to make its most recent spells untraceable—his parents had, at least, taught him _something_ useful, and he figured it was best not to take unnecessary risks. With any luck, his actions would distract from any suspicious goings-on in the evening, as that hallway would likely be more watched than others.

Adrian sat at a table near the door of the library, waiting for his work to be discovered. He pulled his Ancient Runes text from his bag and looked over their most recent chapter, trying his best to make up for whatever he was missing in class. A great deal of his focus, however, was also going into listening in on anyone who happened past in the hall, waiting for someone who'd noticed what he'd done.

It was nearly 5:00 when he finally heard someone.

"Holy _hell_ , you aren't going to believe it," he heard an unidentifiable voice. Confused questions followed, then. "It's the decrees…Umbridge is going to be _livid_ , come see—" Adrian didn't wait to hear more. He shoved his book into his bag and followed the rest of the students, all of whom appeared to have gotten the memo that something had happened.

As he turned the corner and saw the writing, his breath caught in his throat. _Merlin_ he was in so much trouble if they found out it was him.

"Agrippa's ghost," Andrew's voice came from beside Adrian suddenly. Adrian vaguely realized that he hadn't seen his friend in Arithmancy, but didn't have the focus to ask why. "She's not going to like this."

As if on cue, Umbridge pushed her way through the growing crowd of students. She looked livid as she cast spell after spell at the writing, attempting to remove it, to no avail. Finally, she desperately conjured a sheet to cover the wall, but ink transferred through as though it had been written there—a convenient side effect of the spell. Apparently deciding this was a problem for later, Umbridge turned to face the students. Her attempt at a sweet smile failed to cover up her anger, making her expression grotesque.

"If anyone has any information about who did this, they will report it to me. No one will discuss this further. Go on to dinner, or wherever it was you were headed before. _Now_."

Adrian exchanged glances with Andrew, then both turned to look at the writing once more.

"Dinner?" Andrew asked finally.

"Yeah, sure. But we're talking about your day, not mine. It's been awful." Andrew snorted.

"Oh, you have _no_ idea."

"Guess we'll just have to find Jack, then. Make him do the talking." Andrew laughed.

"Sounds like a plan." The two headed off in search of their friend and in search of relief from the day's heaviness. They did, after all, have a meeting to be ready for. This had only been the first part of the day. The second half promised to be just as interesting.


	7. The Second Part of the Day

The Gryffindor Quidditch team had been the first group to make it to the Room of Requirement, excluding, of course, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The other Gryffindors weren't far behind them, Neville and Dean walking in at nearly the dame time as Parvati and Ginny, who were closely followed by Colin and Dennis Creevey, who went straight over to Harry, bombarding him with questions (much to the amusement of everyone else present).

Lee had joined the team to come, but as Angelina had insisted on continuing the discussion of strategy, he had drifted over to Carl Hopkins when he'd come in. He preferred quidditch strategy when the match was in motion, not the plans made before.

"D'you reckon we'll learn something new?" Carl asked, nodding to Lee as he came over. "Not that I doubt Potter's abilities—facing You-Know-Who's a pretty good recommendation—but we're a year above him." Lee shrugged.

"Dunno. But he had to learn loads for last year. Fred and George noticed more than me; they could never find Ron, he was always off practicing with Potter. It's somewhere to practice anyway, and that's what we really need." They talked a bit longer about what they thought was likely to be taught and the like, but were distracted by the door opening once more to admit a whole host of Hufflepuffs. Lee knew Cedric Diggory, Patty Stimpson, and Gillian something-or-other, but he wasn't sure of the names of the others—though he thought they were all fifth years, based on their immediate path to Dean, Parvati, and Neville.

"Who's the bloke with Diggory?" Carl asked.

"His name's Gillian, if you're talking about the seventh year. I've no clue who the others were."

"Justin Finch-Fletchley's the dark haired one, he got petrified back in third year—er, fourth year, for you. Ernie Macmillan's the blond one, and Hannah Abbot's the blond girl. They're the prefects for the fifth years. The other one's Susan Bones." Lee raised an eyebrow at this wealth of information, and saw a frown on Carl's face when he turned. Carl met his eye and relaxed, a bit, but still looked upset. "My brother Wayne's in Hufflepuff, their year. I just would've thought he'd be here too."

"Maybe he just didn't hear. Or was worried about being caught. I'm sure he'll come around, if that's it." Carl nodded, looking uncertain but a bit more hopeful. "I'm going to go say hi to Cedric, you coming?" Carl nodded and followed him. Halfway there, they were joined by Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe, who had entered with Kim Sheringham and Luna Lovegood. About ten minutes after came four fifth year Ravenclaws (Padma, Anthony, Terry, and Michael, Marietta identified them).

"We had to pass by and loop back twice, there was a load of people hanging out outside the first time, and Filch when we got back," Anthony announced. "He looked suspicious about what we were doing up here, so we should be careful. Don't think it's anything yet, but better safe than sorry."

About five more minutes passed before the door opened once more, though no one seemed to come in. The door soon closed, and the "no one" resolved itself into seven Slytherins. Some muttering broke out among the other students at the sight of them, but no one openly questioned it. Lee hoped it would stay that way. He didn't know them well, but he would at least loosely call himself friends with Andrew Fawley, Adrian Pucey, and Jack Bagley since the Yule Ball. At any rate, with what had happened last year, no one would argue their right to be here.

Well, he hoped not.

/

Marietta, Carl, and a few of the older Gryffindors came over to talk to the Slytherins as soon as they entered, but Jack could feel the mistrustful eyes of many of the younger student on them. It was probably worse, he reasoned, for Blaise, Miles, Rissa, and Zoe, who hadn't been at the meeting. He, Andrew, and Adrian had an "excuse" to be here, in the other students' eyes—Cassius. Zoe and Rissa had also been his friends, but the connection wasn't as obvious to outsiders. To bring Miles and Blaise, who hadn't known him well at all, wasn't a popular move. That didn't matter to him. They deserved to be here as much as anyone else, and if they wouldn't be accepted…well, they'd deal with that later. There weren't many people at Hogwarts who could be trusted to have a Slytherin's back, so they had to at least have each others'.

Unfortunately, the confrontation didn't take long.

"Look, are we _sure_ that lot should be here? I mean, no offense to them, but they haven't exactly been proved trustworthy in the past." It was one of the fifth year Ravenclaws—Jack didn't know his name.

"Yeah, 'cause you've given us sooo many opportunities, haven't you?" Adrian shot back. Jack frowned. In all their years at Hogwarts, Adrian had never been so outwardly aggressive. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to think about it at the moment. The Ravenclaw boy's comment appeared to have freed others who had had uncertainties of their own, and in almost no time, the peaceful room had turned into a shouting match as everyone began to take sides. Adrian, Andrew, and Rissa were arguing themselves, while Miles and Zoe seemed to share his concern about what this entailed for their future as members of the DA. Blaise seemed to be working hard to remain impassive, but five years knowing him was enough time for Jack to see the darkness that had fallen on his face. Coming here had been a leap of faith for all of them, but Blaise had given up the security blanket of neutrality the Zabinis were famed for to come here, and Jack worried about what effect this could have on the younger boy's future.

"That's enough." Everyone turned to the front of the room, where Potter stood. He had clearly magnified his voice, but he had spoken with a level tone, seizing control of a situation where yelling would only have added to the problem. Jack didn't know how to feel about Potter, but he had to admire the way he knew how to capture a room, and he certainly seemed to be taking this seriously. Potter had a quick conversation with Granger and Weasley, having removed the sonorous charm, then walked over to the Slytherins.

"I'm glad you all made it." His eyes landed on Blaise and, after a surprised look, he nodded. "Blaise. Glad you could make it." Potter using Blaise's first name in front of everyone seemed to break some tension, making even those who had been unhappy at their arrival look, if not content, complacent. Damn, Potter _was_ good at this. Back at the front of the room, Potter looked over the crowd with a new uncertainty on his face. Being in front of everyone, it seemed, wasn't his strong suit.

"Well, er, hello everyone. I was thinking of where we ought to start and I—" Potter cut off at Hermione's raised hand. "Yes, Hermione?"

"I think we ought to have a name, don't you?" She asked brightly. "To encourage unity—teamwork, you know." From Potter's face, this hadn't been discussed.

"We could be the Anti-Umbridge League," Angelina Johnson said, to general laughter and a few brief smatterings of applause.

"Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group," Fred Weasley responded, only increasing the laughter.

"I was thinking something more subtle," Granger said with a frown at Fred and Angelina.

"How about the Defense Association, or the D.A. for short," Cho Chang offered after a brief silence.

"Yeah, the D.A.'s good," said Ginny. "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army—isn't that the Ministry's worst fear?" Jack grinned at this one, and he could see that everyone else liked it too. After an official vote, Hermione wrote DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY at the top of the list of everyone's signatures, which she'd retrieved from where it had hung by the door for any new members to sign.

"Right, the D.A." Potter looked out over the students, and Jack realized that in a matter of moments, Potter had gone from the leader of a club to the commander of an army—maybe only by name but still…that couldn't be easy. "So like I was saying, I thought that we could start with the Disarming Charm—you know, Expelliarmus." He paused, seeming to wait for pushback, but received none. "I know some of you have learned it, but it's effective and powerful." He paused again, seeming to steel himself for what came next. "I used it against Voldemort last summer, so I know that it's useful. Pair up with someone around your skill level, but someone you don't know well, if you can—Colin, I know you'll probably go with Dennis—we've all got to get to know each other if we're going to work together." Potter's voice had grown in strength, like the attention being given him was reassuring him of his abilities. "If you've both learned the spell try something new—what did you suggest, Hermione?"

"Nonverbal casting," she responded.

"Right, try it nonverbally. Or just try putting more power behind it—there're cushions to put behind you, in case you knock each other down. If you don't know the spell, come over here, Hermione will show you the basics while I walk around to everyone. Um…I guess the rest of you just pair up now and have at it."

There were a few moments of general chaos as people looked for people to work with, and Jack couldn't help but feel hopeful.

/

Marietta had to hand it to Nerissa Brody: she was a fair hand with a wand. Rubbing her elbow, which had smacked into the floor while trying to control her descent, she laughed ruefully.

"Maybe if I stop trying to catch itself the cushion will actually do its job," she said to Nerissa, adjusting herself to be in proper stance. "Expelliarmus!"

Nerissa fell neatly onto the cushion, but Marietta could tell that her spell was nowhere near as powerful as the one which had just knocked _her_ over.

"How'd you get so good? I mean, we've had all the same Defense professors, but you're just…powerful." It stung Marietta to admit it, and to realize that she'd gotten used to being the best—because among her friends, she was. Nerissa looked uncertain of what to tell her, and Marietta wondered if she was worried about critiquing her, afraid of what would happen if she took the advice poorly.

"You're too…in control." Seeing Marietta's confusion, she shrugged. "I don't know how else to say it. Your form is spot on, and even your stance is right, but it isn't natural." She'd been wrong earlier, Marietta realized. Nerissa hadn't been uncertain of whether to critique her, only how to explain it well. Her pride stung a little for the second time, but she pushed it away in annoyance. Nerissa walked over to her to continue her explanation more easily.

"See, wand form is great because the movements help direct our magic, but in the end, your magic isn't coming from your _wand_ , it's coming from _you_." Her eyes were distant, as though she was reliving something in the past, but a sudden laugh drew her back. "I had a tutor, when I was little, like a lot of the older pureblood families get—trying to make sure we're the best, or whatever, not that it works. She always made me practice 'feeling the energy inside me', whether I was running around or sitting down or playing quidditch. I always laughed, because it seemed like such a silly idea, but when I started at Hogwarts I realized that she'd really been teaching me about doing magic, feeling it flow through you, into your wand, and out as a spell. I don't know how else to explain it, and I know it probably sounds absolutely mad, because that's just how I felt my childhood. But that's what you need, I think. To stop trying to control the movements outside and just…feel it."

"Right," Marietta responded. "It does sound a little…"

"Mad?"

"Ambiguous. But magic can't all be set in stone, I guess. I'll try it, that thing your tutor had you do. See if it helps me feel…I dunno, more connected with myself?" She couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous that sounded, and Nerissa laughed with her, then crossed back to her cushion and took up a stance.

"Expelliarmus!" Marietta had just enough time as she fell to appreciate the fact that Nerissa's movement did, in fact, flow more than hers. Then her elbow smacked into the floor.

/

"Great work tonight, I saw lots of improvement." It was true—by the end of the night even tiny Dennis Creevey had managed to disarm his brother. "We don't have a second date yet, but Hermione's got a way for you all to hear about it." Granger stepped forward nervously—public speaking wasn't her thing, Andrew had noticed—and held up a Galleon. Weasley began to pass them around, and one for everybody, and a few left over—Granger had obviously planned ahead. Typical.

"I've enchanted one of these for everyone. On a real Galleon, the serial numbers would be on the edge of the coin. But on these fake Galleons, the numbers will change to match the time and date of the next meetings. I've put a Protean charm on them, so Harry can just change his and you'll all feel it—they'll get a bit warm."

"You can do a Protean Charm?" One of the Ravenclaws—Terry-something, Andrew thought—asked. Andrew was impressed in spite of himself. They wouldn't be learning Protean Charms until later that year. It was impressive magic.

"Great, thanks Hermione," Harry cut in after some more conversation. "Unless anyone else has something—"

"I do, actually." Cedric Diggory stepped forward. "I've been working on figuring out a charm Terry told me about. There's not much research about it, because it fell out of use pretty quickly, but I think I've just about got it figured out. I've told some of the others about it—it's a long-distance communication charm that uses mirrors. You can only connect up to four without it getting unstable, from what I've read, so these—"he held up his Galleon—"make more sense for general use. But if any of us needs anything or is trying to set up a meeting with other D.A. members, it makes sense for us to have a way to communicate, too, and four would let us have one per house."

Potter nodded. "That makes sense…er, do you need help with the spell, or…"

"I think I can manage. Like I said, I'm almost there."

"Right, then. Just…bring them to a meeting whenever you finish, then. Come on, we'd better get going… again, great job, everyone."

People began to leave in threes and fours, chatting with those around them while waiting their turns. Andrew heard study plans be made, quidditch pickup matches arranged, and a plan for sneaking out into Hogsmeade by Zoe and Kim, who seemed to have hit it off during the night. There was no strict plan made, but as everyone got back to the Slytherin Common room, they headed to the seventh year boys' dormitory. When everyone was there, they stood looking at each other for a while, as though they were soaking in the night from each other's faces. Andrew couldn't help but laugh.

"Good for you all too, then?"

"Unexpectedly so," Blaise replied, his face betraying just a glimmer of excitement—still more than he usually let through. Andrew wondered if he hid a whole person back there, and was exhausted at the thought. Andrew made a mental note to make an effort to befriend him. It seemed like he could use it.

"I know you had a good night, Zo—be careful you don't spend that fake Galleon in Hogsmeade on Saturday."

"Keep it up and I'm not bringing anything back for you," she shot back, and Andrew made an exaggerated gesture of covering his mouth, at which she threw a pillow—one of _his_ pillows—at him.

Yeah, it had been a good night.


End file.
